


You're My Weakness

by nightfallgoddess



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: AU Clizzy, Angst, Artist Clay Fray, Ballet Dancer Isabelle Lightwood, Confusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfallgoddess/pseuds/nightfallgoddess
Summary: An artist. A ballerina. A love story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta, Amber.

Alla Prima (äləˈprēmə)

_noun_

**1.**  a method of painting in which pigments are laid on in a single application

 

*           *           *

 

Clary slept through her alarm. Again. Third time this week that her dreams had sucked her into a timeless hole of mystic adventures filled with centaurs, druids, and winged creatures. She really needed to lay off the late night fantasy novel reading.

The sun was barely rising through her apartment window, and she just wanted to crawl back under her quilt blanket that her mom had made as a college present, and sleep until noon. Life, though, had a different plan for her.

A loud crash outside her door had Clary, instead of grabbing the nearest sharp object to defend herself, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Simon, her best friend and roommate of their Brooklyn loft had run into his door for the fifth time since Sunday. He had a knack of being clumsy to the point where Clary wondered how he was still alive with a vendetta on his head.

She and Simon had been best friends since she was six years old, and he, seven, on the playground that resided a couple blocks from Clary’s loft on Berkeley Place, Park Slope, in Brooklyn. They have been inseparable ever since those sandbox years. Even when things had been weird during their last years of high school when she and Simon had decided to try and become more than friends. It hadn’t worked out, but that chapter of their friendship would definitely be something that they'd laugh about in the future.

At the end of their senior year, Simon came out as pansexual.

Clary won’t lie that she had been surprised, but immediately gotten over herself, and reassured Simon that she was happy for him and that nothing between them would change. Ever. He was stuck with her.

Silence followed. Simon had probably knocked himself out. Until...

“Clary! Hurry your butt up. You’re late. Third day this week!” she heard Simon yell through the door, his voice booming inside her ears as she slowly started to wake.

She took a quick shower and dressed in her most comfortable sweater and paint splattered jeans. Being an artist has its many perks when it came to fashion choices. It’s always well-worn but still passable enough so you're not mistaken for someone who hasn't washed in a few days. Just grab whatever makes you comfortable and you’re set.

Clary walked into their open floor kitchen, pulling her wet hair into a low bun, and found Simon eating his “award winning” egg and mustard omelet with fervor.

Simon turned around and gave her his tired lopsided grin, remnants of mustard on the side of his mouth, as he chewed. She motioned to the mess on his mouth with an amused eye roll, prompting him to duck his head and wipe his mouth.

“You should really start getting to bed earlier,” he pointed out, trying to steer the attention away from himself for a second. Clary took her subway pass from the hook next to the fridge, and then went over to their windowsill where she had designated as her art space, and picked up her bag from the floor.

“You were up all night playing the same riff on your guitar until 1 am. Don't give me crap about not going to bed on time."

“Oh, sorry,” Simon dumped his plate into the sink and grabbed his bag from the bar stool next to him, along with his guitar perched on the table. “You know how nervous I am about this partner assignment. The classical music major I’m supposed to be working with hasn’t sent me any of his ideas for the song, yet. It’s majorly bugging me. We have two months until the big showcase, and I’m not going to get a failing grade just because he wants to be a dick and not contribute...”

Simon continued to complain as they walked down the stairs, past all their sleeping neighbors’ doors and out the front door into the chilly fall air of New York.

Clary had had enough at that point.

“Simon. Just call the guy. I’m sure he’s freaking out about it too. And _maybe_ he’s got other things going on. Simple as that. Just call...what’s his name again?”

“Jace,” Simon muttered under his breath, annoyance clear in his voice. “Even his name sounds like a pretentious asshole.”

Clary glanced at Simon with her _come on Simon_ look.

“Okay okay, I know I’m being a wee bit ridiculous," he admitted, his deep brown eyes looked down sheepishly. "But can you blame me? He hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

Clary decided to end the conversation there. That's just how things were with Simon. He complained until he was all out of energy to continue doing so. He’d feel better once they were at their favorite coffeehouse, Java Jones. She tugged her scarf around her throat a little tighter as the chilly air began to piggyback on the wind.

 “I'm not going to hunt this guy down. I will do this whole composition by myself if I have to,” Simon continued on.

Clary shook her head. They were half way across the block from Java Jones when Simon’s phone rang, his horrible Go Go Power Rangers ringtone on full blast. He answered the phone, giving her a lopsided smile as an apology. She walked a little faster, leaving him to follow her at a slower pace.

She was already late to her class, but she seriously needed that caffeine fix if she was going to do any kind of artwork this morning, and Java's was her only savior in her desperate time of need. 

About a minute later, with Java Jones in her sight, Simon ran to her side once more.

“That was that Jace guy. He told me to meet him at the conservatory on campus in fifteen minutes. He didn’t even say please, or _apologize for not picking up my calls or texts._ ”

“I’m sure he’s not as bad as you think. You better get going if you want to get there in fifteen minutes.”

She pushed open the door to Java Jones, inhaling deeply, the rich smell of coffee already perking her up. Clary stood in the doorway, looking back at Simon who stood at the edge of the sidewalk.

“Yeah you’re right." He glanced at his watch with a worried look, then back up at her. "Taki’s for dinner?”

“Yup. I’ll probably be a little late though. I have to turn in an application for that internship I told you about last week.”

“Cool. See you later, Fray.” Simon started walking backwards, narrowly missing a jogger pushing a baby stroller.

“Bye, Lewis,” she said with a laugh. Clary smiled as she watched Simon trip again, this time over a newspaper stack. 

Her best friend, ladies and gentleman.

*           *           *

She entered Java Jones, the bell over the door tinkled as the door shut, finally catching the attention of her favorite barista, Dorthea. She was the daughter of the owner of the cafe and had been working at Java’s since Clary could remember.

“Clary, hey!”

“Hi Dot. I’m kind of late to my class, so I can’t stay and chat." Usually she and Dot would find a quiet corner and talk, when if it wasn't too busy. Dot also had a knack for tarot card readings and would indulge Clary's curiosity.

“No problem. Latte Macchiato? Tall?” Dot asked, even though she had already began working on the drink.

“Please.”

Clary moved to the side of the counter near the cream and sugar rack and checked her phone. If she was quick, she could probably make her morning art history lecture before her professor noticed she was late. She'd just have to run the whole way there. The whirring of the coffee machine and chattering voices in the café were broken by the sound of the bell ringing again to announce that another customer had come in.

High heels against the wooden floor was what caught Clary's attention though, and looking up from her phone, she spotted the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen standing in front of the counter, gazing at the chalkboard menu above. There was just no way someone that beautiful could actually be real. Long jet black hair contrasted with golden skin, made the girl stand out greatly among the other people in Javas. Her lips were painted deep red, which complimented the black lace top and black motorcycle jacket paired with black skinny jeans and knee high suede boots she wore.

Clary blinked and realized that The Girl had said something to her while she'd been staring unabashedly. She startled and her breath caught in her throat. “Sorry?” She managed to say, although with a stutter. 

The girl smiled warmly in response. “I think your order’s up.” A red painted fingernail pointed to a tall cup behind Clary where Dot was holding out her coffee.

Clary turned around, thanked Dot and grabbed the coffee, her face flushing with a crimson blush she had always cursed the universe for damning her with. It was the kind of blush which spread down her neck and brought out her light brown freckles she had always hated. 

“Thanks, Dot. See you tomorrow," she said, avoiding Dot's questionable look in her dark brown eyes, because there was no way in hell she was going to let her to predict this weird encounter. Then to The Girl, “Uh, and thanks. I guess it’s one of those mornings.” Clary raised her coffee before taking a sip, her cheeks still feeling warm. The Girl laughed lightly and her heart kind of fluttered a little. Clary liked her voice. It was soothing and smooth, with a hint of an accent Clary couldn't place.

Clary averted her eyes to her cup when she realized she has nothing to say.

“Right. I have to-- uh go.”

She headed towards the door, but somehow, in between the counter and the door, her legs got tangled and she realized that she was about to face plant with a cup of hot coffee in her hand. But before she met her imminent fate, she felt warm hands grab her tightly: one on her wrist and the other wrapping itself around her waist. 

“Are you okay?”

Clary gathered herself and realized that she has spilled a little of her coffee on her jeans. She looked up to The Girl staring at her with humor in her eyes. _How can I be this embarrassing without even trying?_   Clary wondered if maybe she'd been dropped on the head at birth, because there totally had be an explanation why she couldn't have a least one minute of her life trying not to make an utter fool of herself. 

She pulled away quickly. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m such a klutz. I could literally trip over air” she laughed, cringing internally at how high pitched her voice seemed to her pounding ears. Her cheeks were still warm, and she was sure that her hair was a mess. She felt so uncoordinated and ugly next to this person just a couple inches from her.

“I guess it _is_ one those mornings,” The Girl replied with a smirk. And with a turn of her head, she went up to order her drink.

Clary turned on her heel, needing to get the hell out of there as fast as she could, but this time more tentative of her steps. Walking out of Java Jones, the chill breeze helped cool down her heated cheeks, and she turned back to the café, and surprisingly, The Girl was looking at her. Those brown eyes. There was something about them, that she couldn't get over. Her hand circled around her coffee tightly, then for some reason without any communication from her stupid brain, Clary waved, because she might as well complete her trifecta of embarrassing habits while she was at it.

Realizing what she had done, she dropped her hand as fast as she could. But, in the process she accidentally hit her face, fingers poking her eyes awkwardly. Looking up, Clary saw that The Girl had seen the entire thing and was now covering her mouth, trying and failing, to hide her laughter. With her cheeks burning, Clary turned around beginning her long walk to class and after checking her phone again, she realized she missed her Art History class for the third time this week.

 

*           *           *

Since she missed her morning Art History lecture, Clary decided to go early to her next class, Live Drawing. When registering for classes this semester, she had been so excited to add it to her schedule. It was something she believed every aspiring artist should experience, whether it was drawing a bowl of fruit on a stool, or a live model posing on a podium.

Well, she hadn't actually done the ladder, but she felt like today’s class was really going to be something special.

Simon relentlessly teased her for taking the class, musing how she just wanted to take the class to get to look at naked hot people in which Clary would retort with she'd probably get to see more than he ever will, and he shut up quickly.

She set her bag down in her cubby and opened up her bag and started fumbling through her supplies for pencils that weren't broken. Which was quite a challenge since her bag was filled with them. It was like trying to find something inside a blackhole.

Clary finally found a half chewed up High School Musicial pencil and decided to take it. She'd sift through her hell hole of a bag later to organize. She quickly grabbed her ipod and earphones before heading to her work station. Might as well kill some time before the empty studio was filled with eager art students. Plugging in her earphones, the soothing sound of Bille Marten’s voice washed over her as Clary got comfortable on her stool. As soon as her pencil touched the paper, she was off and running.

The feeling of sketching, had always been like this--a need to move and create. Her mind worked, and her hand chased. Ever since her mother had first gifted Clary with her own sketch pad when she was ten years old, she hadn’t been able to stop. Art was who she was. Without it, Clary didn't know how she would live.

It also helped that her mother was also an artist, although she now taught art at the Brooklyn High School of the Arts. Her mother got her need to draw, and had always encouraged her to put her thoughts on paper when she couldn’t say them out loud.

Clary thought back at the first time her mother had sent her to the New York Metropolitan Museum in Brooklyn, or what she called it, _heaven_. Clary really had been in heaven, stopping at every single painting her little eyes could find and asking her mother to read to her the little descriptions attached to each painting.

Art was like a memory, to her. You may never know how it was created or what lead to it, but once it's formed you can't escape it. It takes over all senses until all you can see is the swirl of the paint or the smudge of the charcoal against stark canvas. 

The beginnings of a face began to form as she smudged the lead a little to add definition.

Her concentrated eyes followed her rapid hand movements, sucked into the trance-like state she got whenever she sketched.She pulled away to look at her sketch in a different angle. A small gasp escaped her when dark almond shaped mysterious eyes and a slow smile on a face of a woman stared back at her.

It was the Java girl from that morning.

She had drawn her without even realizing it.

Her smirking lips, perfectly arched eyebrows and sharp jawline perfectly mirrored the image of her that burned at the back of Clary’s brain.  _What the hell?_ Sheripped the page out of her sketch pad. The sketch was good, she gave herself that much. She had managed to catch the very same look that The Girl had worn when Clary had first seen her. Smugness and a hint of… _flirtiness_.

She crumpled the paper into a ball and aimed it towards the trash can by the teacher's desk. It missed by a long shot and Clary can practically hear Simon cheer "Ha! You suck, Fray!" She got up to pick it off the floor and threw it away properly.

Walking back to her seat, she heard the first mummers of her classmates just outside the classroom.

“Well if it isn’t Clary Fray, actually early for class,” Her friend, Maureen Brown teased while she made her way to her own seat beside Clary.

Clary rolled her eyes half heartedly before walking into the back room to get her charcoal and paper. She liked Maureen. They had been friends for a few years, back when Simon hired her to play in his band, Rock Solid Panda. She still hated the name with a passion.

Maureen and Simon dated for a while, but dumped Simon for their band’s manager, Eric. And with that, the band broke up as well. Everything had worked out eventually, though. Simon had gotten over it, dealing with his issues with his sexuality instead. Maureen and Eric started their own band and were fairly successful playing at several small music festivals around the city. She and Maureen stayed in touch and started taking a couple classes at the Institute for fun with her.

“Artistes! Please get situated. We have a special guest this morning,” her instructor Ms. Spinka called attention to the class.

Clary hurried herself, quickly grabbing her supplies, before she returned to the room as she tried to open up her charcoal box. For some reason the latch was stuck and wouldn't budge. A familiar laugh stopped her in her tracks.

“This is Isabelle. She will be our first life model for the remaining of this semester. Please welcome her.” Her instructor gestured to The Girl from Java's, who was standing in the middle of the room in only a black robe. 

Clary’s charcoal box fell to the ground with a loud clank, simultaneously as the class begins to politely applaud. Eyes turned back to the noise, behind to her. Her cheeks flushed when a pair of dark piercing eyes met hers across the room, a trace of surprise behind them, soon replaced with a humorous glint.

Digging a hole right there to hide in sounded like good idea at that moment. Preferably forever. Clary wondered if anyone else could hear how loud her heart was beating in her chest. 

 _Could this day get any more embarrassing?_ She watched in slow motion as Ms. Spinka motioned The Girl to the podium under the spotlight in the middle of the studio.

Clary’s heart pounded, beating in time to the steps The Girl took. She bent herself down slowly to pick up the pieces of charcoal that dropped from her momentary lapse, her eyes found themselves traveling back again to the center of the room and the next thing she knew, a robe of black silken waves fell to the floor.

_Apparently not._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: nightfallgoddess  
> Beta's: bonesandstardustchaos
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> xx


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